After the Fall
by Chai99
Summary: After barely escaping their fight with the senior partners' minions, Angel, Spike, and Illyria are on the run. As they attempt to create new lives, they meet old friends and new enemies. Set after "Not Fade Away".
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! Yeah, I know I stole the name, but I happen to like it. Besides, this is basically an AU version of TPTB's After the Fall (though I personally don't believe that the comics are canon). So yeah, anyways, enjoy! And remember to review. I'm very fond of reviews. Very very fond.**

* * *

Illyria stirred, and opened her eyes. Light shined feebly through cracks in the boarded up windows of the abandoned warehouse they were staying in. To the right of her Spike muttered and twitched in his sleep. As she pulled herself to her feet, he woke.

"Lovely day, eh, pet?" the vampire muttered as he stood up.

Illyria frowned. The air was cold and damp, and grayish, threatening clouds masked the sun's light. All in all, it did not appear to be what humans considered "good weather".

"I don't understand."

"Sarcasm, pet. Remember what I said about sarcasm?"

She tilted back her head, considering. "You said that it is when you mean the opposite of what say. You said that I should use it as often as possible, in order to annoy 'Captain Forehead'." She straightened her head once again. "I assume that is one of your colloquialisms for Angel?"

Spike smirked. "I'll give you this Blue, you learn fast when you want to. Why, I'm sure we might be able to pass you off as an acceptable human by this point." Seeing her enraged expression, he backpedaled, "Well, maybe not. In fact, you seem very demony to me. Very demony."

This seemed to please Illyria, and the conversation was halted as the two started to pack up their gear. They had been staying at the warehouse for a week, and Angel had decided that it was time to move on. Spike and Illyria had agreed; they had barely escaped the fight in the alley, and ever since then they had known that the senior partners were still looking for them. So they made an effort to stay only a couple days in one place; kill some demons, help out the locals, and then move on. It was safest that way.

They carried minimal supplies with them save weapons and some money for blood. And pictures of the life they'd left behind. The inside pocket of Angel's leather duster contained a scrappy print of him and two others grinning for the camera. On his left was a handsome yet somewhat dorkish looking man in glasses, and on his right a beautiful young woman with mocha skin and laughing deep brown eyes. The sides of the photograph were worn from much handling. Spike himself still had a photo of Gunn, Wes, Lorne, and Fred jammed into his pocket, and a somewhat more wrinkled one of Buffy. And even Illyria, who claimed to care less for mortals than a man does for a stomped on bug; even she possessed one picture of a loved one left behind. Wesley Wyndam-Price was captured looking pensively down at a book. She was pretty sure Lorne had taken the picture, in the last few months of his life, the idea of even holding a camera had been repulsive to her. But she was glad for the picture all the same. The queer attachment she had developed for the mortal had persisted beyond his death, and oft it would ease her grief to look upon his picture, though she was loath to admit it.

The days at Wolfram and Hart were but a memory to them now. At times Illyria could no longer remember Lorne's or Gunn's faces, try as she might. But the sight of Gunn's mutilated body would be stuck all of their heads forever. Logically Illyria knew that there had been no chance of him surviving that night, but for some reason it had still upset and bothered her. More mortal feelings, she supposed, slightly disgusted, but not as resistant to the idea as she had been when she was first reborn.

She and Spike finished their packing, the silence only broken by the occasional harsh caw of a crow or the splashing sound of a car running through a puddle. They had been on the run for almost two months now, and had established something of a routine.

If the two of them had been humans, they wouldn't 've heard Angel's near silent approach. Things being as they were however, they both turned swiftly at the sound of his footsteps.

He nodded slightly at them and the few bags they had. "Good. We should be leaving this afternoon. Take one last romp around the neighborhood if you like, but be back by sundown. We should be able to cover a lot of ground tonight. Hopefully."

"Sure thing Peaches," Spike replied in his usual cocky way. "Me and the Blue Meanie were going to head on down to that bar, what's its name, again, Blue?"

"D'Oblique"

Angel looked stricken for a moment. "What'd you say?"

"D'Oblique" Illyria narrowed her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," Angel sighed, still looking a bit wary. "Just knew a place up in LA called that once. Probably have nothing to do with each other." He glanced at his companions. "What's keeping you two?"

"Well," said Spike, shifting his feet, and looking, oddly, rather nervous. "Well… er… well Blue was thinking-"

"You should come with us," Illyria interrupted, quickly tiring of Spike's stuttering. "Spike says that we are a 'team'. The human definition for this term requires camaraderie, and Spike believes that we are 'growing distang'."

"Hey! Now wait a second, Blue, I never said that!" said Spike, looking panicked. "What she means, Angel, is _**we**_, meaning both of us, think that you should get out, y'know, smell the roses or maybe hang and have a drinking contest with me and Blue. Now, Blue with some vodka in her, that's what I call scary!"

Angel was going to refuse, until he took a look at both Spike and Illyria. Both were worried, though they tried hard to hide it. _*Can't hurt too much*_ the vampire decided. _*Besides, unfortunately, they're all I have left.* _He pretended to mull it over for a second, and then nodded his head yes.

"But there'll be no drinking today, you two. I need you both sharp so we can move fast this evening, okay?"

"Aw, Peaches, spoil the fun," complained Spike, though he didn't look all too upset. "Well c'mon, pet, Captain Forehead, we best be going then."

"Don't call me Captain Forehead."

"Course not Peaches. Wouldn't dream of it."

"_Spike!_"

The three unlikely companions headed down to the sewers towards D'Oblique.


	2. Chapter 2

Clambering out of D'Oblique's sewage access grates, Angel glanced around. He figured they were in some sort of utilities closet- dark, damp, and generally unappealing. However, he could hear loud popular music coming from somewhere close, so the night club must be nearby.

Spike confirmed his suspicions. "C'mon Peaches. Just through the door." Angel strode ahead of his fellow vampire, reminding himself in his head of all the reasons he shouldn't kill Spike. _*One of these days I'm just gonna give into temptation…*_ he thought angrily, though he didn't really mean it. Though Spike could be thoroughly exasperating, he was also a loyal, if argumentative, ally, and these days Angel sometimes even considered him a friend.

His internal musings were cut into by bright blue lights and a haze of alcohol, perfume, and sweat. Giggling girls and slightly drunk men populated the tables and the dance floor. The mass of gyrating bodies seemed to move as one, and the blue glow gave the miles of bare flesh a slightly disturbing look. A chill settled through him.

Glancing back at his companions he was both relieved and a bit annoyed to see that both appeared normal- that is to say, Illyria looked smug and condescending and Spike was smiling his I-want-to-go-party-and-start-a-brawl grin. Apparently, whatever he had sensed, neither of them had detected it."

Illyria furrowed her brow at the dancers. "This is a peculiar ritual of humans, dancing. I wish to experience it." She looked expectantly at Spike.

"You asking me to dance, love?" Spike replied with an even bigger, stupider grin than before. "Thought you were above all that petty human behavior."

Illyria started to withdraw, offended, when Spike sighed added, "Sorry, pet. Didn't mean to imply anything. C'mon. Let's dance." Illyria considered for a moment, then relented and started off towards the crowd. Spike glanced back. "You okay by yourself for a sec, mate?"

Angel nodded and gave what he hoped was a reassuring nod. "I'm fine. I'll just hit the bar. You and Illyria go have fun." Spike nodded curtly and hurried after their blue-haired friend.

What Angel didn't mention was that he had realized what was so unsettling about the bar: it didn't just share a name with the D'Oblique he had visitied once ago; it was the D'Oblique he had visited. A couple more customers, perhaps, but otherwise it was exactly the same, right down to the potted, dying plant in the corner. He shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts. He was probably just imagining things. Still, one could never be too careful with the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart after them.

The bar was crowded when he arrived, and he only found a seat when a young couple wandered off, obviously seeking to continue their activities in private. The bar stool was shiny and black, the tables shiny too. It was all the same. Looking around, he could almost imagine it was the last time he had been here. He could almost fool himself into believing that if he turned the corner he would find a half-irish half-demon man bickering fondly with a pretty yet rather crass girl. He could almost imagine that if he left the bar, he would be able to reach his home and office by just walking a couple blocks, that he would find it filled with his old books, and his favorite weapons, and that he would be accused of being all Doom-and-Gloomy… but no. That was another life. That life was gone. All he had now were a few belongings, soaked from the rain from yesterday, and an annoying beach-blond vampire and an ancient goddess who he highly suspected didn't like him all that much. Life really did change.

"Hey, can I get you something?"

Lost in his reminiscences, Angel at first found it easy to ignore the voice. But then it came again, louder.

"If you're not going to get anything, you have to clear the seat, man. I got customers to serve."

The voice came from the young Hispanic who manned the bar. He was dressed suavely in a suit jacket and dark pants. However, a face which would have been dashing was marred by a scar down the side of his face. "Buddy, I'm serious. Buy or be gone."

"A Budweiser."

Though the look on the man's face obviously indicated he had been expecting a different response, he didn't comment. A minute later, he returned with Angel's drink. "One Budweiser, as ordered."

"Thanks"

The other man hesitated for a second, and Angel prayed that he would just move on. Predictably, he didn't. "Have to say, Buddy, but you're looking rather pensive."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. I mean most men in this bar, your age, got your looks, they would be all over the place, looking for some action. You, you've been staring at my countertops for the last three minutes. So what gives?"

"Nothing really. Just remembering some stuff. This place reminds me of someplace I used to know."

"Does it now? That's funny, Mister, one of my other customers was saying the same thing to me the other day. Said it was a lot like some place up in LA."

Angel's head shot up. "LA?"

"Yeah, man, I know. Wonder what's happening up there? The authorities keep on saying it's nothing, not to worry, but me, I got the feeling even they don't know what went down."

Angel nodded in understanding. Ever since he and the others had invoked the wrath of the senior partners, LA had become a bloodbath. Demons had looted and destroyed. The sane had left while they could. These days, he had heard that some power, probably the new Slayer Council, had put up a mystical barrier around LA. They didn't want all those demons coming out and attacking the rest of the world.

The bartender, ignorant of what was going on in Angel's head, continued to speak. "I think my customer knows too, not that I could get her to say a thing to me. Funny, most people will say more to their bartender than to their psychologist, but this one, I'm lucky if I get a good five sentences out of her. Reminds me of you a bit in that way, buddy."

Angel smiled, though inwardly he wondered who the man's customer was. If she knew what was going on in LA, she could be useful. Or dangerous. Either way, it would be good to know who she was.

And apparently fate was smiling on him, for the bartender looked up, and remarked in a shocked tone, "Well, speak of the devil. Here, I'll go grab you a malt, just the way you like it, miss."

"Thanks, Antonio."

Angel spun around, shocked. He knew that voice, but it wasn't a voice that belonged to his current life. It was a voice that called up more memories of the half-demon man and the girl, a voice which he hadn't heard in three years, at least. It couldn't be, and yet he knew it was. He turned around.

The woman stared at him for a second through blue-grey eyes, and then her lips teased their way into a wry smile. "Fancy finding you here. Long time no see."

Angel felt his own lips spreading into a grin. Her blond locks were longer than he remembered them, but he would recognize her face anywhere.

"Hello, Kate."


End file.
